


Testing Silence

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Wonder(ful) Years Verse [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Established Relationship, Family, Friendship, High School, M/M, alternative universe, wonder(ful) years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Setveryearly in the Wonder(ful) Years 'verse, four vignettes of Peter and Neal's life in junior high and high school.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an extra day (Day 9) for my Fic-Can-Ukah meme, for [](http://pooh-collector.livejournal.com/profile)[pooh_collector](http://pooh-collector.livejournal.com/), who picked the prompts, "There is always one more silence" and requested a fill in the Wonder(ful) Years 'verse. I also promised not to write super-sad death/dying fic for her, even though this prompt really could have gone that way. Instead, she'd getting super-young Peter and Neal.
> 
>  **Warnings/Enticements/Triggers** : Brief reference to intentional humiliation of students by a teacher, reference to underage (16 and 17 year olds) sexual activity, nothing explicit.  
> Many thanks (again) to my creative co-conspirator, [](http://kanarek13.livejournal.com/profile)[**kanarek13**](http://kanarek13.livejournal.com/), who provided the lovely and spoilerly artwork for the end of the story.

**Brookville Falls Junior High – September, 1977**

Before he started seventh grade, Peter had thought he'd love English class. All the new books they'd get to read and talk about, even learning about silly things like grammar and sentence structure, too. His mom had explained that that stuff was like really baseball rules. Sometimes they didn't make a whole lot of sense, like the in-field fly rule or tagging up before going from third to home, but they were important anyway.

The problem was that Peter hated his English teacher. Mr. Fontaine was nasty and snide and he was definitely hitting on some of the girls. He made any who had big boobs sit in the front row and Peter swore he was trying to look down their shirts.

In his head, Peter called him "Jerkface". Not only was he a perv, he also had a habit of interrupting the kids – not when they were talking without permission – but when they were answering a question he'd asked. If a kid was getting the right answer, Mr. Fontaine would interrupt and call on another kid. And it was pretty clear that he was hoping _that_ kid had the wrong answer, so he could take over and talk and talk and talk. And maybe humiliate that student.

Peter thought it was really unfair. But this was Junior High School and it was _The Real World_. No more coddling and recess and going to the nurse because you had a tummy ache and wanted to get out of gym.

At least English was first period. There were upsides and downsides to that. The upside was that once the bell that signaled the end of the period, he didn't have to see Mr. Jerkface Fontaine until the next school day. The downside was that Jerkface liked to throw pop-quizzes about the homework reading assignment and having English first meant you really had to do the reading the night before. No sneaking it in between classes or during lunch.

For some kids, that was a problem, but Peter really liked to read. He'd put the Yankees game on the radio – not too loud – and do the reading first. Then his math homework, then social studies. Then science. Those were the big four – the classes that would give him the biggest problems if he wasn't prepared. Art and music rarely had homework, anyway. This year, he was "officially" taking French, and that had a lot of homework, but it wasn't really a big deal. When he was in third grade, his mom had signed him up for baby French and he still remembered a lot of it, so homework was a breeze. At least for now.

The first bell rang for reporting to homeroom, and Peter dumped his jacket and lunch and the books he didn't need until after lunch into his locker. Three weeks into the school year and he had his routine down pat. By the time the second bell rang, he was already at his desk and watching Mr. Jerkface Fontaine ticking off the attendance cards. He really didn't get the whole "homeroom" thing, though – you had to report to your first period class ten minutes early just so the teacher could take attendance? Even though he took attendance anyway?

Just as another bell rang, signifying the end of homeroom and the start of first period, a guidance counsellor came in, followed by a kid. Someone he knew from elementary school – Neal Caffrey. That was kind of strange, since Neal was a year behind him and should be at the elementary school, in sixth grade. What was he doing here?

Mr. Fontaine got up and Peter could see he was really annoyed. He looked at Neal and sneered and then pulled the guidance counsellor into the hallway. The door was opened and everyone could hear the whispered argument. It seemed that Jerkface didn't want some so-called prodigy in his class, but apparently his was the only one that had room for another student.

Neal stood there, his cheeks turning bright red in embarrassment. Peter gave him a little wave and Neal smiled back, suddenly looking a lot less ill at ease. They weren't really friends, but Peter had always liked Neal and thought he was pretty cool.

Soon enough, Jerkface Fontaine came back, and he didn’t look happy.

"Mr. Caffrey – sit in the back. Next to Mr. Burke."

Peter smiled, but not too obviously. If Jerkface Fontaine saw that he actually wanted Neal to sit next to him, he'd probably stick Neal on the other side of the classroom.

"Okay, in honor of Mr. Caffrey's addition to our happy classroom, we're going to have an essay quiz."

The whole class groaned and a few of the kids shot Neal dirty looks, as if it really was his fault.

Fontaine roared, "Silence!" Satisfied with the level of obedience his shouting got, he continued with the instructions. "Take out two pieces of notebook paper and write an essay about what you think is a principle theme in _The Red Badge of Courage_." Jerkface paused and stared at Neal. "And Mr. Caffrey, just because you haven't been in my class since the start of the school year doesn't mean you get to sit this quiz out. I will grade you on what you turn in, even if it's two blank sheets of paper."

A bunch of kids chuckled, taking delight in Neal's predicament.

"Start writing."

Peter had finished the book last night. He enjoyed the story – it was exciting and interesting and it also made him think about things. About whether he'd take the easy way out or if he'd stand and fight and possibly die. That's what he wrote about and just managed to get the last sentence in before he ran out of room on the second piece of notebook paper. Finished and satisfied with his essay, he glanced over at Neal, who was writing frantically, as if he couldn't get the words onto the paper fast enough.

"Pens down!"

Jerkface walked up and down the rows, collecting papers. He paused at Neal's desk, clearly expecting to get blank pages. His expression turned sour when Neal smiled and handed him two full pieces of paper.

Just as he'd finished collecting the last of the papers, the bell rang, but no one moved. On the first day of the school year, Jerkface threatened to award a week's detention to the whole class if anyone left the room before he gave them permission.

"Go, we're done here."

Neal bolted, not giving Peter a chance to ask him what was going on. But five minutes later, when he got to his science class, he saw Neal talking with Ms. Blumheart, the teacher. She patted him on the shoulder, handed him a copy of the text book and waved around the room. Peter tried not to eavesdrop, but he heard her say to take a seat anywhere.

Unlike English class, they sat at lab tables and Peter's mostly-regular table-mate, Ed Ruiz, was nowhere to be seen so he casually called out, "Neal, wanna sit here?"

"Thanks." Neal dropped the text book on the table and his book bag on the floor. "Appreciate it."

"What are you doing here?"

Neal gave him a look that said, _"What, are you stupid?"_ But then he explained, "I skipped a grade."

"Really?" Peter wasn't surprised, he knew Neal was super-smart. "How come you didn't start here three weeks ago?"

Neal made a face. "My mother hadn't returned the approval form in time, so things got delayed."

"Is it weird being up here, in junior high?"

Neal shrugged. "So far, not bad. But that English teacher – is he for real?"

"Fontaine? Yeah, he is. But I think you really pissed him off – did you actually write a real essay about The Red Badge of Courage?"

"Yeah. My best friend, Mozzie, also got skipped – but got his papers in on time and started when he was supposed to. He told me what to read so I'd be prepared. Didn't think I'd have to write an essay today, though."

The classroom filled up and as the second bell rang, Ms. Blumheart called for quiet and started lecturing about the geological ages of the Earth.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

**Brookville Falls Junior High – January, 1980**

"Quiet, please."

Mrs. Murphy, who taught Health and, oddly enough, Journalism, was one of Peter's favorite teachers. He'd taken Journalism as a half-year elective and thought he might want to become a journalist for real. It was really strange to see her in front of a completely different classroom – one equipped with models of the human body and bulletin boards pinned with posters about the evils of smoking and how having sex as a teenager will give you VD.

Neal, of course, was sitting next to him. He hadn't had Mrs. Murphy before – he'd opted for an art elective for the fall semester, instead of Journalism. Ninth grade was different from seventh and eighth – it was a transitional year. Everyone still had to take _most_ of the same classes, but for the first time, you had a choice of electives. Health was a half-year class and so was Public Speaking, but instead of half of the ninth grade doing one in the fall semester and the other in the spring semester, and then swapping – you got the chance to pick two electives. Peter had picked Journalism for the fall and History of Science for the spring, while Neal had taken Life Drawing in the fall and would take Music History in the spring.

Peter thought it was nice that they were both in the same Health and Public Speaking classes. Actually, they had most of their classes together – it had been that way since Neal had skipped sixth grade and ended up in his first period English class. Although Neal had moved to a more advanced French literature class, while Peter was content to coast in the standard ninth grade conversational curriculum, they had Advanced Math, Social Studies, Earth Science, English and Latin together. Which certainly made studying a lot easier – and a lot more fun. Neal was his best friend and his family had all but adopted Neal after his dumb mom took that pervert Adler's side and went to Japan with him. Neal practically lived at his house during the week – staying over whenever his Aunt Ellen – his legal guardian – had to work the night shift at the County Police Department.

Mrs. Murphy asked for silence, again and this time, the class came to order. She stood in front of the room and leaned against the desk, looking stern. "I know a lot of you think that this is going to be a blow-off subject. You think Health class means you'll have to write a paper about why you'll never, ever smoke, or why eating a 'balanced diet' is important."

She gave the entire room a hard stare. "You already know that smoking's bad for you, but you smoke anyway. You've been doing the food pyramid thing since third grade but you eat pizza and potato chips instead of chicken and salad. Nothing I say is going to change those habits. So you might be wondering, what are we going to do for the next sixteen weeks?"

There were a few murmurs and one kid actually raised his hand. Mrs. Murphy gave him an irritated wave and he lowered it.

"We're going to spend the first half of the semester learning about human sexuality."

The class burst into uncomfortable titters.

When Mrs. Murphy didn't react, the class went silent. "Now, my plan was to talk to you like you are actually mature adults, not a bunch of six year olds who've discovered a nude statue in an art book. Or maybe I'm overestimating your capacity for intelligent thought."

Peter felt himself blushing. He had giggled like almost everyone else.

"I'm sure you all know how babies are made – you got the fourth grade talk, right? Boys in one classroom, girls in another, some tediously embarrassing film about gonads and pubic hair. Well, this is going to be a lot more interesting than that, I promise you. But only if you can keep it in your pants. Giggling and interrupting and making stupid comments will not be tolerated.

"If you can't control yourselves, I'm not bothering with detention or anything as juvenile as that. I'll simply go back to the basic curriculum. You'll spend the next four months looking at pictures of smoker's lung and fat people's hearts. So, this is the only time I'm going to say it – behave like adults and I'll treat you like adults. Behave like hormone-riddled teens and you'll be bored out of your minds."

It seemed that everyone nodded and sat up straight, like they really were mature adults. Then Neal raised his hand, a polite and respectful expression on his face. "Yes, Mr. Caffrey? You have a question?"

"What are we doing for the last eight weeks?"

Mrs. Murphy smiled, and Peter felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. "Drugs."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Brookville Falls – March, 1983**

"Hey, kiddo." Aunt Ellen sat down on his bed and ruffled his curls. "You doing okay?"

Neal shrugged. "I guess."

His aunt sighed. "I wish there was something I could do. Something to make this all better, or all go away."

He leaned against her shoulder. "You can't. But I'll be okay."

"You've been saying that since October, sweetheart. And you should be doing better than okay. You're home on a Friday night – the start of your birthday weekend. You should be out with your friends."

Neal pretended to study the textbook on his lap and he muttered, "Don't have any except Moz." Which was kind of true. While Elizabeth Mitchell and Diana Berrigan had stayed friends with him, other than Mozzie, the kids he socialized with had all been Peter's friends. When Peter dumped him, they drifted away.

"So why don't you see Moz this weekend? Maybe he can come over tonight and keep you company?"

"He can't."  
  
"Why not? Doesn't he know it's your birthday?"

"He's got a cold and doesn’t want to spread his germs." That wasn't the truth, but Neal really didn't like to discuss Mozzie's odd living arrangements. For the past two years, he'd been staying rent-free in the caretaker's cottage on the Walker estate, which had been purchased by some crazy Russian exiles. He did odd jobs for them, sometimes going down to the city – or more likely, Brooklyn – for the weekend. And those jobs took precedence over something as dumb as his best friend's sixteenth birthday.

It was much better that Aunt Ellen didn't know the details.

"And there's no one else? What about Kate? You two make a very pretty couple."

"We broke up." They'd had sex right after Christmas and she decided she didn't want to see him anymore. Neal felt kind of the same way.

"Oh, sweetie. It's your sixteenth birthday tomorrow, and you should be out celebrating."

Neal stared out the window at the grimy piles of snow that were still occupying much of the front lawn. "Don't feel like it, anyway."

"I'm so sorry I have to work, but we're short-handed at the station – those damn budget cuts. And a captain has to be responsible and set an example; otherwise I'd get a case of the Blue Flu and take my favorite nephew out for pizza and a movie."

Neal summoned a smile. "Thanks, maybe next weekend if you're not on shift."

Aunt Ellen gave him a sad look. "Maybe I _should_ call in sick tonight. You look pretty bleak, nephew of mine."

"I'm fine. And don't call in – I've got a paper to write that's due on Wednesday, plus a few reading assignments, and a take-home Calculus exam due on Monday. Might as well get it all out of the way tonight."

"If you're sure, kiddo?"

"I am." He kissed her cheek. "Now get out of here and go catch some bad guys."

Aunt Ellen got up and gave him a long look. "I wish …"

Neal sighed. "I know, but you can't make people be your friend if they don't want to."

She nodded. "Don't spend ALL night studying, okay?"

"I won't, promise."

She left and a few minutes later, Neal watched her car pull out of the driveway, the taillights disappearing into the early spring evening.

The house was quiet, except for the hum of the aging refrigerator. Most of the time, Neal didn't mind the silence. He could lose himself in whatever he was working on, and for an hour or two the pain and the loneliness would recede into the background – like the hum from the fridge. Then he'd think of something and start to say his name, start to say _Peter_ , and the pain was like a punch in the gut. It never seemed to stop hurting.

He saw Peter all day long, in all the classes they had together, or hanging out with Elizabeth, or hanging with other guys. He pretended not to watch him, but he suspected that he failed the pretending part miserably. That Peter knew he was looking at him, but didn't care.

It was sick, really. To want what he wanted. At least that's what almost everyone thought. Fags were wrong and twisted and they belonged in hell. But he wasn't wrong or twisted.

And he didn't belong in hell. Unless it was for having sex with a lot of different girls. He might not have a lot of friends – friends to hang with that weren't Mozzie – but if he picked himself up out of his misery and went into town, he'd probably find a girl to spend a few hours naked with. The night he spent with Kate was pretty bad, but he got the hang of it and a lot of the girls in his class seemed to really enjoy having sex with him.

Ceci hopped onto his bed, and in typical cat fashion, plopped herself down on the textbook he was reading and nudged his hand. He scratched her head, then her chin, and when he stopped, she bumped his face with her head.

She was getting old and Neal tried not to think about that. His dad had given her to him as a birthday present on his seventh birthday – a year before he was killed. She hadn't been a kitten, and when they brought her in to be fixed, the vet had said she was probably two years or older. So she was close to nine. Or maybe ten.

Neal snuggled his face against Ceci's soft fur and tried not to feel so sorry for himself. But it was so hard not to. His mom hated him. Peter hated him. He was almost sixteen years old, but nothing was good or right anymore.

He must have squeezed her too hard, or maybe she got bored, but Ceci nipped his hand and sprang out of his arms, disappearing back into the silence of the house.

Neal tossed his books on the floor and got up. This was stupid. He should change his clothes and head out. For his birthday, Moz had made him a supposedly perfect fake ID and he had a wallet filled with birthday cash. His mother might hate him, but she still sent him a card and a check. And Uncle Joe and Aunt Cathy hadn't forgotten about him – they sent a card too, plus twenty dollars.

He could walk to the Metro-North station and be in the City in an hour. Maybe he'd screw up his courage and go down to Christopher Street and get his cherry popped.

Except the thought of letting any guy but Peter touch him made Neal want to hurl.

And how sick was that?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Brookville Falls Senior High – June, 1983**

There were twelve students sitting for the Physics Regents this year, all of them seniors and there was definitely a buzz in the classroom assigned for testing. Everyone seemed both elated and nervous. Neal wondered if this was what a racehorse felt like at the starting gate.

Clinton slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. "Do you believe this is it? This is our very last exam of our high school career!" By tradition, the Physics Regents was the last one given each year.

Peter, who was also taking the test, leaned back against the desk and nearly fell on his ass when it skidded across the linoleum floor. "It's so hard to believe."

Neal had to agree. "Yeah. I took Five AP exams, plus the Latin Regents. And in three hours, it will all be over!"

Moz joined them. "I feel I should be protesting this exercise in conformity and diminished expectations …"

"But you won't." Neal cut him off. Moz made the same protest speech before every exam, but he still took the tests and still got perfect scores. Which was why he was heading to California and Berkeley on a full scholarship.

This room was filled with a bunch of over achievers. He and Peter were off to Harvard – and Peter had a full ride, too. Clinton was following a family tradition and going to Annapolis – the Naval Academy. Diana Berrigan, who hadn't arrived for the exam yet, was going to Oxford University, of all places. Every student in their graduating class was college-bound – even that idiot Phil Kramer was going to community college.

The proctor entered the classroom and Neal stifled a groan. It was – unbelievably – Jerkface Fontaine, the nightmare teacher from his seventh grade English class. Neal had heard he had retired. Neal glanced over at his best friend to see if Peter remembered him. He did, making a face.

But it didn't matter. _He_ was graduating and he was salutatorian. Peter was valedictorian, and the only difference was that Peter had been on the school's varsity baseball team and pitched the winning game of the school's state championship. Their GPA had been identical and the varsity letter was the only honor that Neal had lacked.

He didn't mind that Peter got the top honor – not really. All that mattered was that they were friends again, and they were _in love_.

"Take your seats. The exam will start in five minutes"

Diana scooted in and sat next to him. Neal gave her a quick smile. She'd been having a rough time since she came out as a lesbian, which Neal thought was incredibly brave.

Neal took out his calculator, a few sharpened pencils and said a very short prayer to the gods of academia. Physics wasn't his best subject – he'd managed, mostly with Mozzie's assistance, to maintain an A- average, but he'd had a hard time with the practice exams for the Regents. Over the last couple of weeks, Peter had helped, too, promising a blow job for every practice exam where he got a 90 or better. It was great incentive, except that Peter really liked giving him blow jobs and it wasn't like he withheld if he'd scored less.

Peter's encouragement techniques were probably not the best thing to focus on while waiting for Jerkface to distribute the exam packages.

Reading from a sheet of paper, Fontaine intoned, "You have three hours to complete the New York State Regents Examination in Physics issued for June, 1983. You may turn in your exam upon completion; however, you will not be permitted to leave the examination room until two hours and one minute after the commencement of the examination. It is recommended that you show your work, as partial credit may be granted for incomplete or incorrect answers. You may use a calculator with basic functions and any advanced functions or memory must be disabled prior to opening the examination package."

Neal listened with half an ear as Fontaine droned on. He was sitting behind Peter and thought about how much he'd like to lick the back of his neck.

"It is now nine o'clock AM. You may begin."

Neal refocused, took a deep breath and opened his exam package. Two hours and fifty-two minutes later, he closed the booklet, cricked his neck and winced as it popped with an audible snap. Moz was gone, of course. So were Peter and Clinton and everyone else except Diana, who was biting her lip in apparent frustration.

He could have used the last eight minutes to check everything one last time, but there really was no point. This grade – whatever it was – made absolutely no difference to his academic career. Tomorrow was the prom (for those who had acceptable dates) and on Sunday, graduation at a local college auditorium. Even if he managed, somehow, to beat Peter's grade (which he didn't think possible), it wasn't going to change their standings. And Peter was valedictorian, he had his speech written and practiced (and practiced and practiced), the graduation programs even listed him with a "V" next to his name. His own name had an "S" next to it.

Neal dropped the exam booklet on the deck and smiled at good old Jerkface, who clearly didn't recognize him, then picked up his stuff and left the classroom.

Peter was waiting for him in the hallway.

"You do okay?"

"I think so, but that question on fluid dynamics might be my downfall."

"It doesn't matter, you know that."

"I know. Could have completely bailed on the exam."

"We both could have. But you wouldn't do that and I wouldn't have, either. That's not us."

"Nope."

They walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the silent hallways. The classrooms they passed were dark and there didn't seem to be any other exams going on.

They reached the front door and paused. Peter looked at him and grinned. "This is it. We're walking out of here for the very last time."

Neal let the stillness and the silence of the place wash over him. This had been such a crazy year, but it was ending so perfectly. He wasn't sad. The future before him – before him and Peter – was bright and shining and full of promise.

He couldn't wait for it to begin.

__

FIN

  



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